A girl had wandered in search of answers; cheeks hollowed and bones grating heavy footfalls led her to a secret place.
Her shadow her sole companion, her mind a whispered foe.
Her throat burns, pain had ripped through and torn flesh to pieces in agonized cries. Deep tracks lining cheeks, dry tears leaving scars – sand pierces eyes, but the pain is forgotten.
It is felt by a girl long dead, from her ashes a hollowed woman risen.
Desert winds blow in violent storm, a crying whisper an onslaught to broken mind.
But a woman wanders on, led only by heavy feet walking an invisible path sung by ancient choirs.
There is no going back; a girl had died and a home was burnt.
The voices cry on, and she walks still. The sand cuts, and the voices deafen. The heavy weight of dead begins to settle – and a burning oasis slowly swallows. The sand slips through scraps of boot, settling in to bleeding blisters and coarse soars.
The pain is constant, a heavy weight and sullen friend. Withered hands fall to fiery glass, as the dead rest on exhausted bones.
Closer, the secret place lies. And the dead claw to her, talons digging and cracking remaining mind.
Take us, they plea.
Closing eyes, a woman battles on – she digs her hands and crawl, inches and inches as sheds their weights.
“No” she whispers; this is her journey alone.
“No” she cries, and with weary hands pushes back – sitting on burning knees, she leans back as clawing talons try to keep purchase. Eyes closed, she faces fiery sun.
Weary mind, weary bones, she throws the weight from heavy shoulders, a silent scream piercing angry storms.
The weight falls, and sand fills her mouth.
She wanders on.
A secret place, only heavy feet and grating bones know.
Blurry vision, her shadow catches salty rain; falling and falling, it pierces caverns of scarred cheeks.
A girl is gone, a woman rose.
A shadow waits, and holds her close.
Its a weight; a small comfort, a friend in mind. The secret place hidden in such charm.
Blistered palms, biting nails – with angry fists, she beats her shadow. Angry rains fall, scalding hands.
The air around is arid; the rain falls only from a woman weighted.
She beats the shadow; beats the comfort.
Heavy feet, grated bones; they know the way, but shadow is whispering voices – a comfort. A friend.
It has no place, among the lonely isolation of the oasis of secret place.
With a screeching cry, the fiery sun weeps; the sky falls and a woman is no more.
Angry storms divide; a sullen rock sits by dry lagoon.
Fingers of blood and bones dig and pull; the secret place found.
A girl is gone, a woman is no more – but secret place stands, and a living corpse crawls to dry lagoon and burning shade.
Why, a voice – strong and sullen, calm and kind – sings. Why come this way?
It tries to remember; it tries to remember why the blazing desert was a path a girl gone and woman no more had to cross.
Garbled screeches pierce confusion, answers forgotten in journey passed.
It tries to remember what it was. Where it came and why.
It tries to remember before a woman no more, before a girl was gone. It tries to remember when a girl was, and a woman was to come.
It remembers a face – not its own. Kind and gentle, soft and bright. It remembers a sound – a voice! Booming laughter, and gentle biting words.
Rain falls, and lagoon rises – it remembers.
A girl sits, sun too bright and shadow too large; tears fall violent, as a lagoon rises more. From dessert sand trees rise, and grass grows under scarred hands.
The question echoes as memories sing; a girl looks up, at the burning light of the sun – not sun, but standing aside. The moon sits in sky, as stars and clouds interweave where sun grows.
Defiance grows, and the girl screams; “you took her; you took her from me, monster”.
Silence is deafening, and the girl screams once more.
Again and again, the voice remains quiet.
“Give her back” she cries, “give her back to me”.
Simple and quiet, in booming whisper that quakes the land the voice answers: No.
A girl raises fists, and runs to hit; when light blinds and suddenly a secret place is no more.
She sits in muddy grass, staring at stone.
Fingers trace engraved cross; a girl screams for the voice.
A woman calls, “what does it mean, to be a God?”
Silence follows. A woman stands where a girl cries, where stone is cold under noon sun.
No voice answers; only silence. A woman learns.
It means not, to be a God. A God is a tale; a faerie in kind. A woman learns, and she remembers.
She says goodbye to a girl gone, and the memory of a bright face and booming laugh.
Death took her, and a girl; there is no rest here, no peace to find.